Whisper Me Your Goodbye
by WeSailShips
Summary: She hugs him tight, not saying a word for once. He buries his nose in her hair, smelling that long missed familiar scent of her, holding her in his arms, not letting go for fear that she'd vanish and so will the fantasy. No words or thoughts come to form as he embraced her with all those years worth of regret - and yet, it still isn't enough.


Disclaimer: I don't own The Vampire Diaries.

Author's Note: Just some food for your hungry hearts. If you like some angsty, regrettably cheesy story, you're in the right place. Enjoy!

Pairing: Stefan/Caroline, a bit of Damon/Elena

Summary:

She hugs him tight, not saying a word for once. He buries his nose in her hair, smelling that long missed familiar scent of her, holding her in his arms, not letting go for fear that she'd vanish and so will the fantasy. His brows furrow and he fights off the stinging in his eyes that threatens to burst out. No words or thoughts come to form as he embraced her with all those years worth of regret—and yet, it still isn't enough.

_oOo_

**WHISPER ME YOUR GOODBYE**

_oOo_

Fifty years is a long time.

The world had evolved once more. Fifty years older, fifty years more foolish. Time, yet again, changed that which had become home to them who should not have been.

People had grown colder and died younger, and the world, well, it has become a tad bit crueler again.

He breathes out a soft sigh, watching the city beneath him. The sight is splendid, the lights are entrancing, the structures are amazing, it is breathtaking but it had become boring.

Fifty years. That is how long it had been since Mystic Falls.

Damn, he's old.

Yes, he sometimes visits his brother. Damon still stays in there, though now he remains in the safe shadows with Elena by his side. They are still madly in love with each other. Their love seems to get even stronger with time.

The corner of Stefan's lips lifts up a fraction, not bitter, not anymore, not for a wonderfully long time. He did love her once—foolishly, deeply, even madly. He fought for her, because then she was the one, she was a promise to his forever, she was his love, she was his everything.

He thought they were forever, no, not thought, but _believed_. They got through every misstep of the catastrophe that was the road of their relationship. Their feelings were strong, their passion a force to be reckoned with, their love epic. Or so he thought.

They fought every single adversary that was against them and overcame it with triumphant smiles and divine kisses.

Until Damon came, squeezed his heart into the gap between them and took a chance. All along, the one that destroyed them has been under their noses.

He competed against his own brother for her, willing her to hold on to him, choose him, pick him, love him more, because he loves her, loves her so much it hurts.

He didn't know it then but Damon, heartless Damon, loved her more.

The girl he was in love with chose the brother he loves and for a time, he abhorred their betrayal. He'd given up so much for the both of them, sacrificed a lot, let go of a lot of things, became both a hero, and the monster he despise, and yet they themselves were the ones who left him broken.

Were he denser a person, he'd have fought for her to the bitter end.

But though his love was strong, it dwindled and died with the passage of time and it perished too soon for him to continue his battle. It was no longer worth fighting against. True, Elena loved him, but she loved Damon more. So he accepted it. And it is ironic how he felt happy for them even at his own expense.

There will always be that part of him that would always love Elena, only now it's a very far cry from when he was in love with her.

He went back inside his apartment, his head shaking slowly, a tiny smile on his face. And there it is again.

A memory stirs inside his head.

It is of an afternoon sun, of sands and footprints, of water crashing against his ankles, of sprinkles of salt water all over his face, of his arms around someone, of blonde curls and a warm laugh, an echo of his own interlacing with it, of a girl.

A very precious friendship, one he treasures the most, was one that beheld his greatest regret. He remembers how helpless he was as their friendship went crashing down into millions of heartbroken pieces. The constant in his life, the one who'd always been on his side, one who didn't rob him of truths, who held him when no one else did, offered to be his anchor when no one would, gave him her arms so he could cry and mourn the people he lost, the one who kept him grounded and sane, the friend he trusted the most, one of the best two he had…

_I think, someday, you'll meet someone new and you'll fall madly in love, and you'll have moved on without even realizing it._

Caroline.

Funny, how that turned out to be her.

She was supposed to be his constant. She was supposed to be there. She wasn't supposed to go away. And was it revenge that she coincidentally didn't say her farewell? Because he does remember himself doing that to her three years prior to her disappearance. But they were over that little hitch that time right? Everything was great again, even more so, so what changed?

After many, many years of living in the shadows of that particular past—of loneliness and emptiness, he finally awoke one day and decided torture was enough. He had enough of thinking, had enough of suppressing and had enough of everything!

The Ripper stirred then and his control slipped. He turned it off.

He never wants to remember what happened after that.

He still thinks of her though—Caroline. Not frequently unlike the past, she just pops in his mind randomly at times, times such as now. Sometimes she's frowning at something, or adorably glaring at someone, which he hadn't commented on being unintimidating in the least. But most of the time, she's smiling and laughing with that radiant smile of hers, her eyes shining as though they were as bright as the sun.

Stefan misses her voice. He misses her laugh.

God, he misses her.

Sometimes he lets himself drown in their memories. Of Damon and Elena, of the gang, of Caroline, of past loves, of happiness and friendship and affection and youth, and how it can just disappear in a blink of an eye. And he'd brood after, because even though he'd cut himself off sentimentality road, he couldn't deny he misses those times.

No fingers smooth the furrow on his forehead and he wishes for those now. He yearns to say the name of the one person who did. He remembers that adorable grin on her face when he says "Okay, okay" and he breaks just a little bit more because it hurts—it hurts for it to only be just a shard of memory, a page from one chapter of his life, a past that can possibly never be again.

He never realized how much he needed her laugh until he did.

_oOo_

It is one year after when he visits Damon and Elena again.

Mystic Falls never changed. It's still green and woody and home. The atmosphere is silent and he finds his much needed solace in it.

He drives his car towards his old home and finds his brother at the porch wearing a lopsided smile with his arms across his chest. When he opens the car door, Damon walks towards him and somehow gives him a bro hug, complete with backslapping and "Boy, do you look miserable brother."

Elena rushes out the house towards him when he turns his head to her. She's exclaiming his name and her face is beaming at him while joyful tears fill her eyes. She hugs him and he swears under his breath, muttering about the bones she's about to break. She holds him tighter even more and Damon laughs when he hears a small bone cracking.

They eat and drink dinner and Elena is enthusiastically talking and telling him about her and Damon's vacation in Europe. It is romantic, she says. And indeed it is, as she narrates to him—in detail—of their travels in France, Scotland, England and Italy. Damon coughs unceremoniously, cutting her off in the middle of Tuscany and Stefan's brows rise at him, a teasing grin on his lips. Damon glares at him, chugging down blood and Stefan shakes his head, a low laugh escaping his throat, extremely amused at seeing Damon uncomfortable.

Elena bites her lip and she is perpetually youthful in both men's eyes as she dart her eyes away, light sheepishness on her smile and a glow on her cheeks. Only, where Damon's heart swells at how utterly perfect she is, Stefan just smiles at how love-struck the couple is.

When dinner is over, Damon takes one of his beloved whiskeys and invites Stefan for a drink at the back porch. A garden sits well-tended in the backyard, a small touch of Elena's feminine preferences. They sit on a wooden bench situated near the edge of the garden. There are blooming flowers to each their sides; chrysanthemums, hyacinths, daises and other blooms the brothers care not to recognize.

Damon takes in a breath, thick and foreboding that Stefan furrows his brows at him. The older Salvatore lets go of it just as slowly. Shortly after, his eyes drop. He's acting weird, Stefan wonders why. Was Damon in trouble? Shrugging, he leans down and pours Damon a shot. Surely, the bourbon can loosen him up.

Apparently it did.

After gulping down several shots and hissing, Damon looks him in the eyes. He looked damn serious until that fake drunken smile creeps on his face. Stefan feels uneasy.

"We saw Barbie in Venice."

_oOo_

The memories of the past are slowly ebbing away from him. He is moving on.

It's what happens when you live long—you tend to move on from the past, even if you didn't want to. Not forget no, but live on because it's what you should do to survive. The past is but a memory now after all. A life lived, a life experienced, a lifetime ago.

It is one part he lived in his unlimited undead life. Just because that period is the most important doesn't mean he should live in it, right?

Right.

He travels the world and meets interesting people along the way. People say he doesn't smile much and that he's handsome (and hot) anyway, so it's okay.

He prides himself in proving Damon wrong; his older brother had after all proclaimed in his most confident, if not arrogant, voice to Elena: "Are you kidding? My baby bro doesn't travel much. He's lame like that." He's not lame; he's just a homebody person then. There's a difference.

Time flees away fast when you're occupied and you're not aware how much had passed until you've checked your watch.

Twelve years escaping the cradle of sadness had done him good. Stefan watches as another generation breathe life into the world, him coping with the changes again. In a world where naivety is slowly waning, he's glad that the humans are still ignorant of the supernatural.

He looks young and handsome and well, for a lack of a better adjective, _the_ Stefan Salvatore. And it is not surprising that wherever he goes, women gather.

Young ladies flock to him, armed with long batting lashes and indecent, flirtatious words in different tongues willed for seduction. He smiles at them and politely answers their questions as they try and fail to bed him. Besides, he's never been the kind to associate himself with indecent women.

Ah well, maybe except for that conniving hag who took his virginity. But that was 1864; he was still a boy, who was stupid, driven with hormones and well, too curious of what tits felt to resist. Who can blame him anyway, Katherine was hot.

Looking back in those times never really seize to disgust him. He was such an idiot.

Damon teases him whenever he gets the chance and Elena tries hard to set him up to dates. He acquiesces if only to humor them both. He never makes it to a third date with someone though. And yes, he does seek release in occasional meaningless trysts but never with the same woman.

He is tired of love. And yes, he's too old for that shit.

Oh well, as they say, whatever.

Funny, Caroline's face appears when he thinks himself an old man stuck in a boy's body. She never failed to rub that fact in his face whenever he broods then, now did she?

He sighs.

He is in India now. It's a good thing that the modern world hadn't touched the ancient beauty of certain places. He'd grown to like the sight of history a few decades ago, at least giving himself an option how to waste his life for now.

And he wonders, not often, what it would feel like if he had somebody by his side every place he goes.

_oOo_

It is in Ireland that he settles for a while. Located far into the country, it was peaceful. The ambience of it comforts him and he feels the need to pause in his travels for a moment. He buys a house on top of a mountain whose slope is filled with old stone houses. The town in the foot of it is noisy, but calm, lots of jolly music, so rich in culture and ridiculously fascinating stories. And let's not forget the beer.

It's peaceful. It's nice. It's temporary.

The view from where his house is perched is stunning. It overlooks the blue-green loch, dotted in the edge with tiny fishing boats by the shore. The water reflected the vast sky, the color of it almost the same shade as his ring, mirroring it on the water's unmoving surface. The loch is encased in an embrace of sorts by the green canopy, welcoming mysteries of strangers and stories of seafarers alike. A yacht floats near the center of the water from where he is watching from his house, and it rests over the calm waters, making ripples on its tamed bed of blue.

He wants somebody there with him.

_oOo_

Half a decade staying in the Irish country, Damon leaves him with a message, saying in a very annoyingly knowing voice, "Greetings from Virginia brother! You should probably buy me something fancy when you come back here y'know. A little birdy chirp something about another birdy being in Greece and I bet you would want to see this birdy. Oh! And hint: this birdy's blonde."

Somewhere in his chest, where his heart used to beat, a very faint thud echoes.

_oOo_

Her hair has grown longer; it now flows down in waves of curls down her back and ends just below her waist. She looks the same—pretty and bright and bubbly. She's wearing a pale blue chiton, looking like a Greek goddess herself. Strings of pearl beads droop down and around her half braided hair and she smiles that smile that could easily melt a man's heart.

Children surround her, all looking up with adoring eyes as she sings to them a folksong about heroes and love, of victory and glorious endings. The song is soft, and each breath brings out the beautiful sound of her effortless falsetto and wonderful alto. He listens, beguiled by the siren's voice but the harpist's nimble fingers brings the song to its decrescendo sooner than he wants, and her voice fades and fades into a whisper until there is nothing but silence.

People start clapping and she beams like the sun itself.

She is burning with life. Every part of her is set aglow with light so radiant and warm—so different from the darkness that is her nature. She greets people, never failing to smile and be her jolly self. She dances and laughs at her own silly jig and the villagers laugh because how can they not?

She looks too pure, too unsullied that for a moment, he thinks she's someone else. Then again, she'd always been too innocent to be seen as one of them vampires.

He couldn't think.

It is after the festival that he gathers the strength to approach her.

The sun sinks bleeding in the horizon, staining the beautiful Santorini red. She is bathing in the lights of the sunset, high up a cliff, when he finds her. The scarlet lights plays over her skin, making her look so unreachable and so mysterious under its glow.

And he finds that it scares him, because she's so different—not entirely changed per se, but somehow better, older, stronger, wiser—and he feels like an outsider in this world she made for herself.

"Caroline"

She turns slowly and watches him under her lashes. Her eyes grow wide and a breath escapes her in a loud gasp. "Stefan" she whispers in surprise, and _oh God_, she's real and it's not a dream.

Time freezes and he's uncharacteristically nervous. His throat constricts and he doesn't know what to say. So he opts for putting his hands in his pockets, hoping and praying for the awkwardness to go away. His features twist as he fights to remain indifferent, willing for some measure of control he can't seem to grasp. "Yeah. Uh, been a long time Care."

She's silent for a while, just looking at him, studying him. And then her face softens and a smile blooms on her lips and he is ecstatic because it's his Caroline, it's his best friend. She'd never really changed.

She hugs him tight, not saying a word for once. He buries his nose in her hair, smelling that long missed familiar scent of her, holding her in his arms, not letting go for fear that she'd vanish and so will the fantasy. His brows furrow and he fights off the stinging in his eyes that threatens to burst out. No words or thoughts come to form as he embraced her with all those years worth of regret—and yet, it still isn't enough.

When she lets go, he tightens his arms on her waist and she looks at him, then holds his face in her hands, smiling and crying and laughing in that husky tone that differs from the other laughs she has. Oh yes, he knows her different laughs.

"Oh Stefan, God, look at you!"

_She's real, she's real, she's real!_

He smiles widely, watching her as she fuss, exclaiming how awfully the same he looks. She is inappropriate with him and he treasures the platonic moment. Every snide insult she spits out awakens the sleeping guy from long ago she'd left behind. He's not bitter anymore though.

"Gosh, how on Earth did you find me?"

"Mrs. Salvatore"

She blinks at him, eyes huge and suddenly blank. It's silent for a while as that statement sink in. "Come again?"

"Elena"

"Oh" she says in wonder, smiling slightly, her face carefully empty. "Ah yeah, she knows, I told her a few years ago. That was the last time I talked to her," she shrugs, the tiny smile she gives him obviously forced.

"Damon apparently got it out of her during one of their, uh, late night bed-talks. Finally." Stefan confesses, looking a bit uncomfortable talking about _that_.

"Oh," her face changes, dropping the smile, her mouth forming an almost perfect O when she drawls out "Ooohh" again and she laughs off and he joins in not long after. Somewhere between her giggles, she remarks of him being such an old man and he feels weirdly—cozily— warm all over.

She says it's unfair; that she should've been told Damon and Elena had tied the knot because "Dammit, I could've been the wedding planner!" But then she giggles and says "Oh well, it's not like I was sharing much too." And she gasps in succession when he tells her the story. Her voice raise in that typical Caroline Forbes fashion as she squeals out, "How romantic is that?! They got married secretly? That's like, scandalous! Aww, and it's in Italy, I'm so jealous. Aren't you? Man, that place is one of the most romantic places ever. I've never been in Tuscany but it sounds pretty so it should be pretty!"

He laughed so hard at how much her jaw drop when he tells her that the wedding happened sixty years ago. And yes, the wedding was done in secret. Stefan himself wasn't even invited. Damn Delena.

Maybe if he wasn't his Ripper self then, he could've been the best-man?

There is that light in her eyes as her voice rise and fall and he listens, intently and reverently, because it's her voice he hears.

A gust of cold wind heralds the forthcoming winter and a breeze cradles Caroline's golden tresses. It ruffles her teal garment and Stefan takes off his jacket and drapes it on her bare shoulders.

"I'm a vampire Stefan. I can survive a little cold," she points out with raised brows.

"Humor me." He offers her a tiny smile and a careless shrug, and she rolls her eyes affectionately. Humor him she does. She moves to sit on the rocky ground, letting her feet dangle on the cliff. Stefan follows after her.

They sit in comfortable silence, waiting, because it is twilight hour and the sea, sky and the sun has a majestic story to show.

Stefan holds her hand.

_oOo_

They go back to the 'old days'.

She tours him all over Santorini and takes him to her place, introducing him to her friends, old and young hospitable villagers of that town whose name is too hard to pronounce. She is kind to them and they treat her like family. She works for a nursery on their little village.

She acts quite odd with the children though—sweeter and just…_more_.

She brings him to the park where she'd watch over the children play. Later, when they're spent and asking for stories, she narrates to them fairytales, of Cinderella, of Aurora, of Snow, of Pocahontas and every Disney princesses she remembers. She tells them of 'Once upon a time' and 'happily ever after' again and again. And she giggles when little boys make faces and then she sighs, grins and gives them adventure stories of a great pirate captain named 'Jack Sparrow'. From the looks of it, she'd told them these stories about a thousand times, but never really tiring, for the happiness it pays her is more than enough a compensation.

And he could see how great of a mother she'd have been if she hadn't been turned. The thought is frustrating.

She persuades him to play with them and he couldn't say no. It's Caroline after all, no one says no to her.

She teases him when she finds out a ten-year-old girl has a super crush on him. She says he's a pedophile and he punches her shoulder lightly, because yes, technically that's true, but that was long ago. And he's mortified at her insinuation of having impure thoughts towards a child, because jeez! Elena was seventeen! But then she grins and tickles him just in the right places and that ends with both of them breathlessly laughing and cuddling each other on her couch.

Just like old days.

They both sleep by dawn that day because Stefan needs to listen to the story of her life that had no Stefan on it. He kisses her temple before closing his eyes finally, murmuring his good night as the first crack of light peeks through Greece's sky.

He regrets not having been with her.

She's mortified when he brings her to Ireland. She scolds him for his lack of adornment, saying exasperatedly, arms flailing and eyes big with a glare, "Uh hello? What is this?! Seriously Stefan, this house needs some love! And God, you need a wife."

His brows furrow in thought. "Why would I need a wife? I have you."

That shut her up.

She decorates the house he bought. She drags him to every local furniture store she sees and chooses the things that suited his taste—old, vintage, masculine, elegant, the whole old man shebang, as she often calls it. Of course, he pays for all of it. Ah well, he's rich anyway.

She gets her revenge when she paints one wall of his study pink.

That episode went a little nasty and noisy though when he chases her around the house, yelling funny threats, laughing at their own silliness. And when he did catch her, he tickles her and loosely hugs her from behind, smearing paint all over her, and somehow they end up having paint war. And when all is well and done, they're both on the floor, covered head to toe in colorful paints, sleeping soundly.

Sometimes he convinces her to stay for weeks. They talk, they laugh, they reminisce, they drink and they catch up. Other times she forces him to watch romantic comedies with her. He finds himself spending more time watching her than he does the movie. She cries and he rolls his eyes each time she holds her arms up to him, but acquiesces anyway and hugs her, comforting her drama away with several pats and the soothing "There, there". She's such a baby.

But times when all is silent and peaceful under the moon, he often takes her hand in his and dips low to kiss it. And then he'd look up with that mischievous, charming grin of his he knows she can't ignore, and tugs at her in silent invitation, circling his arms on her waist when she smiles her compliance, and they dance to the sound of the wind.

It's all too easy to forget himself when she's with him.

She rests her head on his shoulder every time and he rests his on her hair and it's sweet and precious, because they can do stuff like this without having to fall in love with each other.

He closes his eyes and breathes in deeply, smelling jasmines, holding home.

_oOo_

Caroline is beautiful and charming so it doesn't surprise him why men wants her. She flirts with them and his body grows rigid when they touch her too much.

He tells himself that it's just his over-protectiveness. Of course it is.

It's really annoying though.

He keeps this thought from surfacing but as every time she smiles that small, hopeful, tender smile to those dashing guys with their fancy accents, it pops up anyway. _That was mine. That's supposed to still be mine._

_oOo_

He feels a bit lost when he sees her crying in front of him. It's two years after he'd found her already and she's in front of him, weeping because she doesn't want to leave. Because: "Here is where the people I grew to love and the children I so badly want to be my own are. I don't want to go," she sobs.

He offers her his arms and she buries her face in his chest, clutching his shirt in her fingers, tears soaking it. He whispers to her that it's alright, everything's going to be alright, and it's all so pointless because he knows what he's saying are empty promises, because he's been there and he knew the pain of leaving the people you love. And yes, she does too; she knew because she'd been there, done that, countless times to be exact, him being one of it.

But nevertheless, they both seek comfort in false words; finding assurance in such fantasies, trying to convince themselves that if they lie and lie and lie some more, someday it will become the truth and not some madness born from desperation.

But the experience doesn't make it any less agonizing. It's Caroline after all; when she loves, she loves with her everything, when she cares, she cares far too much. Her heart's just way too big for her own good.

One ugly part of him is angry at her for that reason. Really, when will she learn to be detached? When will she learn to compartmentalize? When will she learn not to break? When will she become resilient to it? But then ironic as it is, that's the very reason why he loves her in the first place. He should know, being one of the recipients of her unconditional affection—not to mention most of it—is an everlasting honor.

"Come home with me Caroline." He says in the gentlest voice he could muster, looking at her melancholic eyes, wiping at her tears, holding her face in his hands. And when she nods, he could see how heartbroken she is.

Time and again, he'd witnessed age deplete the humanity of them night children, but no, not her—because she's Caroline and she's the most human amongst them.

_oOo_

Home isn't necessarily a where; some ways there's a huge probability of it being a who. As cliché as it is, home is where your heart is.

Love— a concept too worn from its redundancy as assumed that of romantic nature. People forget this at times, often conclude love as that concerning just contact, skins, promises, pleasure. People forget that there is far more to love than that. That romance is just one of the many categories of love. Ridiculous how shallow we can be.

That is their kind of love, forged not from romance but something that is far more lasting, far more beautiful. From friendship, a bond that from the first years of its conception was made strong by kinship and made stronger still by their losses. They are best friends for as long as they exist and no amount of evil can change that, not even their own personal messy past. They are each other's home. And so there's little difference in Stefan's _"Come home with me"_ to the unspoken _"Come home to me."_

Now she needs to cool off a bit, collect her broken pieces and paste it back together. _Again_. She doesn't say anything; she just puts on sunny smiles and deceives everybody else that's not Stefan.

She's starving herself and he practically needs to drag her every time he feeds.

One afternoon, Stefan's patience snaps and he yells at her, and he knows that he shouldn't, given the circumstance and her depression, but he just couldn't stop. She needed the nourishment! She's so thin she looks like the walking dead! And yes, he did see the irony.

Stefan leaves for the woods, channeling his anger and frustrations against the defenseless trees and animals that are just too unlucky to be there then.

He comes back to a dark, silent apartment by nightfall. His stomach knots, a growing fear rolling deep within him and he rushes out the house and try to smell and sense Caroline's presence.

He couldn't.

He doesn't see his phone on the coffee table until the dawn of the next day when he comes back empty handed. There's a message from Caroline when he checks it.

_I'm so sorry for being pathetic Stefy. I'm going to the city, drown my sorrow with shopping and when I come back, we're gonna be BFFs again okay? Okay. _

_XOXO_

_PS: Don't miss me too much ;) Luv ya! Bye!_

He drops on the floor, his forehead dropping on the table top with a thud and he breathes out a harsh sigh, unconsciously uttering a relieved "_Jesus Christ_" through clenched teeth.

_oOo_

They both roam the world together when being settled becomes way too boring—Caroline's words, not his.

Money's not a problem, so what the hell.

He takes her to Egypt and she so badly wants to climb one pyramid. "Please, please, pleeeeease Stefan" she pleads, her eyes as adorable as puppies, lips in an endearing pout. He is weak against such persuasion and he wants to grant her wish, really, but damn it they're vampires, not some flying dudes with capes and stupid briefs-over-tights superheroes. She pouts for almost two weeks.

Caroline comments that it's weird, seeing him in shorts, jerseys, and rubber shoes, add to that ensemble a cap that had his hero hair bowing, when they get a little more adventurous, climbing the mountain ranges somewhere in Nepal. She laughs hard, seeing him in color and he ignores her witty comments, grumbling to himself about annoying best friends.

Where Stefan had a glitch back in Egypt, he makes it up to her in China—where they stroll through the Great Wall. It isn't her first time being there but she loves it, says it makes her happy and she hugs him as they look into the distance, overlooking China's beautiful landscape, whispering "You're the best!" in his ear. He smiles at her and leans down to plant a kiss on her temple. People stare at them with knowing smiles and they both snicker as they hear what others think of them. Hah! _Cute couple_. How absurd.

Bangkok is amazing, she says, so many flowers and very nice people. Amazing temples too! One morning, he wakes up with a pink rose on his ear and a note on his bedside table. _Rise and shine pretty! _It's an inside joke between them and he can't help the inevitable tick of his brow.

When he talks about Hokkaido, she shuts him off. Why, he has no idea. It makes him curious though.

She dates this guy for awhile in Australia. He can't seem to remember the guy's name. The guy's great—gentleman, good looking, makes Caroline happy. Better than most she'd dated so far. And oh! He has an accent. Stefan doesn't like him.

They fight an enemy in Sitka, Alaska and Stefan is, in equal measure, terrified and astonished of Caroline's brutality. The witch had it coming, perverted punk.

They go to LA next and it's a blast. She drags him to parties everywhere and she's always drunk when they get to their hotel hours after midnight. One night though, she clings to him, says in desperation to "Stay, please" and he does, because she's upset about something and he worries.

In Chicago, he lets her see the wall of his Ripper. He watches the way she looks at him and he knows, he just do, that she doesn't see him any less. "Your Ripper is a part of you, totally opposite yes, but is still you," she says softly and her voice is salvation and forgiveness molded into existence, "I don't like him, but I don't hate him either. I know it's stupid, but I don't hate him. He's you." He never truly thought he'd sought acceptance until she voices out hers to the unacceptable truth of him.

While in Long Island, she sings to him as they hunt for bunnies. Her voice is really damn good. She sings about animals though and how cruel it is to kill something so cute. The glare she shoots him when she thinks he's not looking is so menacing he just can't take it. His laughter warned all the animals away.

In Peru, his control almost slips. There's an accident by the road he and Caroline are sauntering on. They see the accident play in their own eyes, a family car and a motorcycle. And then there's the horrible crash and came the blood, much, much of it.

It is gushing. So much red. Its scent wafts and settles in everything he sees and smells, and he can almost taste the delicious metallic tang of it as he breathed in. It is so lusciously overwhelming and heavenly and delicious and _God_, he wants it, needs to feel the taste of it again, and again and then some more! But no! No, not again, never again! A feeling locked inside screams to him, taunts him, tempting him for just a drop, yes just one, a tiny rope that when snapped will be his freedom. The lust is extremely unbearable that even Caroline has to take measured breaths and control the rush of the cravings. He saw the veins bulging from under her eyes.

He pants heavily, his fangs coming out and veins skating under his eyes. A hollow distant voice calls for him but he ignores it. _Blood, blood, blood,_ _so much blood, so much red_. He wants it, wants to sink his fangs through skin and break through it. And blood, _fresh blood_ is rapture. He advances to a boy whose leg sprout forth his ecstasy, and oh the smell!

But a girl stops him and he thinks he knows her. She says calm down, focus, look at her, and he wants to rip her apart because how dare she place herself between him and his food. She looks appetizing enough herself, his mind registers suggestively. He swats her away though but she's strong and she doesn't falter easy. She curses meagerly, stomping her foot and while he's distracted by the scent, she breaks his neck.

In Cuba they meet Hope. She's a hybrid and she's Niklaus Mikaelson's daughter.

She dances to the music of Brazil during Carnival and Stefan is forced to hold her hands as she sway and twirl and they laugh like they're normal foreigners enjoying the festive streets of Rio de Janeiro. And he feels so utterly human with her.

In London during a Christmas gala, she's breathtaking in a cream gown. If only for a night, she is young Mr. Stefan Salvatore's wife. He takes her hand by midnight and leads her outside, away from unwelcomed eyes, to the open balcony - with Big Ben standing on their right - where they slowly waltz through Strauss' many songs beneath the diamond-studded sky and the colorful fireworks.

They share a meal with Damon in Austria. He's alone apparently, taking care of some 'business.' What kind, they don't ask. His brother gives him a peculiar look when he thinks Stefan's not looking. He hears Damon whistle low not long after, looking between him and Caroline with a smirk, a drawled "Damn" he utters under his breath. Thank god Caroline's too busy admiring one lady's silver stilettos.

In Spain they dance the tango in an empty ballroom. Underneath the romantic lights of the crystal chandelier, they are lovers in the duration of the song.

She says a prayer, eyes closed and a coin poised on her fingers. They're back in Greece, and everything else is more beautiful with her. She watches from afar as a woman cradle her baby in the streets of Santorini. The woman was once a child she loved and cherished and Caroline smiles, her face full of pride.

In Paris, they kiss. It isn't meant, more of an accident really, the softest brush of lips, one that could go as 'nothing', but Stefan couldn't help his spine from tingling and his dead heart from skipping. It has been so long.

He interlaces their fingers as they both listen to the deep, sorrowful baritone of one Venetian gondolier. Caroline stares at him for a while, but then glances away because there's something behind his eyes now, something deeper, a story he's trying to convey what his lips cannot say. When she tried to pry off her fingers from his, Stefan tightens his hold saying faintly, "Don't." She bites her lip and he wraps his other arm around her, bringing her closer to him as the gondola shows them the fairytale that is Venice.

Somewhere in Prague, he wants more. She leaves without a goodbye.

_oOo_

Stefan goes back to Virginia after that.

He remains 'broody Stefan' but his older brother senses the small shift in his attitude. Damon becomes his drinking buddy and while comforting, it isn't really welcome either. Well, for one thing, Damon asks _things_. And it's monumentally awkward.

They talk about anything, really—from the weather, to kids these days and to one annoying yellow duck Damon wanted to stake, to things Stefan rather not speak of.

The distance between them is gaping.

What they don't talk though is Stefan's complicated life. At least after the fist conversation they had, where Damon let slip his concern of his little brother's problematic romance.

But Stefan's glad Damon's minding his own business now, which he should. Elena is clearly concerned, but she knows her place and doesn't intervene.

For a time he fools himself.

He tries in every way he knows to forget the happiness he'd had when he had her by his side. He tries to not think of her. He tries to not think of their adventures and their mischief. Of their years, decades together and how much her fingers fit perfectly on the spaces between his, how strange it is now to not be holding a hand on his. Of the few soft kisses he'd attempted and her lips, her eyes, her hair, her everything when they do just that. Of the shy smiles and timid gazes they'd shared afterwards. Of tiptoeing, of testing the waters, of fluttering heartbeats, and of every lovely, if not childish, clichés in between.

He tries to not miss the feeling of just being completely himself when he's with her.

And that's the point—he tries, tries so hard not to, even though knowing all his efforts are in vain.

_Why? _

He asks himself this question more often than not. Such an innocent word, so curious, but careful, never should it be mistaken as innocuous, for it has power when paired with just a string of thoughts that burns your soul and plunges deep in your heart. And he is testament to that, for his heart shatters because it's too late, _again_, that he realizes something he should've long ago.

_oOo_

Three, four years pass with uniform dullness, riddled with the usual limited bliss the blood offers. He stays in Mystic Falls, for escaping and running grew old for him. It is home, after all—as home as it can get anyway.

Snarky comments Damon makes hides the advice beneath the carefully picked words, but Stefan knows Damon cares. Damon just doesn't want to show that he does. And he appreciates it, appreciates the fact that even though he's hit rock bottom deep as shit, at least his brother's there to annoy him. Bastard.

One insignificant night, a ring interrupts his peaceful sleep. He ignores it for awhile, but changes his mind and taps the flat metallic surface of his intercom in the bedside table, giving the number a glare. The hologram shows no identification. "Hello?"

No one answers back.

"Listen, it's 2AM and unlike you, people do actually need some res-" He hears a sniff, a small sound muffled by a hand he assumes. His brows crease. "Hello?"

"Hey"

The voice drains out the sleep. Oh God. "Caroline?"

"Keep talking please. I just need to hear your voice."

She sounds weak, her voice hoarse and desperate. She's crying.

"Where are you?" he asks, already out of bed and hastily putting on a shirt.

"I don't know. I don't know anymore Stefan."

"Care, are you okay?" he asks, now full-on vampire speed heading for his car.

"No I'm not."

The line went dead.

Come morning, a very ashen Elena ushers his unmoving, unblinking form towards the library where Damon sits with his thick brows drawn. There's a disturbing news on, of a massacre on a small town somewhere in Oregon and he says that Elijah Mikaelson just called. He says Caroline killed almost a quarter of that town. Klaus made her do it. Elijah said his brother didn't mean it.

_oOo_

For the next months he searches for her, with help from the ever reliable duo Damon and Elena. They keep him sane sometimes, from himself, from being too impatient, from giving up. He should be patient, he knows that, but dammit, dammit, dammit all! Where the hell is she?

Not a trace of her was found. Not a goddamn clue.

She's become too good covering her tracks it's irritating.

He constantly reminds himself that he can't give up, has no right to even think of such an absurdity. Because it's _Caroline_, for Christ's sake! This thought is what's on his mind as he walks by the hallway towards the living room. Something from the corner of his eye stops him from his tracks though.

A framed photo of Liz hangs unassumingly on his right. She has that rare smile of hers on, with her badge glistening under the gaze of the lazy autumn sun, leaning against her patrol car with a coffee in one hand. The quirk of her lips suggests that she was quite confused and surprised why the one taking the photo was taking it at all, but caving nonetheless.

How many years has it been?

_Too many to count._

Thoughts of Liz had always made him a lot gloomier. As it always did, the misery comes unbidden.

It isn't that he'd not been sad at her passing, she was a friend and Lord knows he was miserable; for himself, for Damon, for all of them, for Caroline above all. It had more to do with the fact that the day she died was the day that he'd crossed the line between friendship and that which is beyond it. Somehow, that made him feel extremely guilty, and the guilt throbs dully now, wakened by his remembrance of this amazing woman. And Caroline most of all did not deserve to feel the same, if not more, guilt while her mother slowly faded away from life. It was shameful to have done that, so damningly insensitive.

But damn his guilt! It cost him Caroline Forbes. It cost him her humanity.

"Hey Liz" he whispers to the picture.

He hadn't been sure about the feelings he'd had then. But he'd been sure that it was something—better, so much better than true love itself even. It still is. It's still there. It never really disappeared. It never really died. It just grew quiet with time, building and forging into something beyond measure as it age along with time.

It is love, he realized so long now. One that is quiet and untold and endless. A love that was unhurried, the feeling dawdling in his subconscious and creeping so slowly, yet so fiercely, into his heart. The kind that lingers forever.

As he continues walking towards the living room, he can only hope that she hasn't turned it off. It was horrible the first time.

He is not quite ready for a surprise when he comes in the foyer. The sound is clean, the same clear, brittle, high-pitch voice.

"I heard you were looking for me."

_oOo_


End file.
